


In Your Hands

by cindergal



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Damage, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 23:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11001543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cindergal/pseuds/cindergal
Summary: After she learns that Spike has been hurt by Dana, Buffy decides that she's the best one to take care of him.  But it's more than Spike's hands that need healing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kcarolj65](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=kcarolj65).



> Importing some of my old fic from LJ. This was originally completed 6/07.

It didn’t take her long to figure it out. Andrew was a sucky liar, and an even bigger coward. He could barely contain his excitement anyway, so it didn’t take much more than a clenched fist and a steely stare before he was spilling his guts enthusiastically. And Buffy was packing a bag before he even finished his long-winded tale. It was shocking enough to find out that Spike was still alive, let alone stand around and listen to Andrew's graphic account of what a psychotic slayer had done to him, embellished though it might be. God, she hoped he was exaggerating. She briefly considered calling Angel to find out, and decided against it. She still wasn't sure if she could trust him. She'd actually been feeling a little guilty about that, until she found out what happened to Spike. Now she didn't really want to give him the heads up that she was on her way.

An extra pair of jeans, some underwear. Pajamas. Toiletries. What did one pack for a rescue mission? The hell with it, she'd buy what she needed when she got there. She stuffed everything inside, snapped the lid closed, and dug her passport out of her nightstand drawer. When she turned around to leave, Dawn was standing there in the doorway, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder.

“No,” Buffy said, slipping past her.

“But, it's _Spike_ ,” Dawn answered, following at her heels like one of those annoying little dogs. "I know the whole back-from-the-dead-thing should be old news by now, but it's still kind of a novelty for me."

Buffy stopped abruptly and spun around, and Dawn nearly bumped into her. “How did you even know? Did Andrew tell you?”

She shrugged. “Didn't take much. He's scared of me. I have no idea why.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, it's not like you're scary or anything. And you still can’t come with me. You have school.”

"Think of it as a field trip."

"It might be dangerous."

"So is leaving me alone with all the cute Italian boys." Damn. She was right. "Besides," Dawn said again, "it's _Spike._ "

"You don't even like him anymore," Buffy said.

"Well, yeah. But I still love him."

Buffy stared at her sister for a moment. "Okay, now _I'm_ scared."

"Why?"

"I so get that."

Dawn grinned and held open the door.

***

The Wolfram and Hart elevator was as spacious and impressive as the rest of building. Even their canned muzak was better than most, though it didn't make the awkward silence between her and Angel any easier to take.

"This thing is, like, the size of my bedroom," Dawn said, looking around the elevator car. She'd had been in awe since they walked through the rather imposing front door. "Are you really the boss of all this?" she asked Angel.

He smiled at her. "It's a little complicated but, yeah, I guess so."

"Amazing what evil will buy you." Buffy could see Angel in her peripheral vision, staring up at the numbers with no discernable reaction. That just made her madder. She couldn't stand it anymore; she had to say something. "So, boss man, explain to me how you running Wolfram and Hart is a good thing."

He didn't look at her. "I don't think you're really in the right frame of mind for that conversation."

"Then why don't you explain how you let Spike get hurt? I'm really in the right frame of mind to hear that."

He shook his head. “Let him? If that idiot had just listened to me, nothing would have happened to him." He shrugged. "Besides, he’s going to be fine.”

Buffy couldn't believe what she was hearing. “You mean, except for that ‘no hands’ thing, he’s going to be fine?”

“I told you, they sewed them back on,” he grumbled. At least he had the decency to look a little embarrassed at that.

“Oh, that makes it all okay then. You're lucky that girl didn't cut off his head!"

Angel turned slowly and stared down at her, suddenly making her feel very small. His emotions had turned on a dime, his voice now quiet but unmistakably angry. “Well I’m not the one who decided to activate all those potential slayers with no thought as to the possible consequences. At least Spike will recover. Those other people Dana - that's her name, by the way, _Dana_ \- those other people she killed? They aren't so lucky.”

How dare he. Tears stung her eyes, and her hands balled into fists. Buffy took a step toward him, but just then the elevator dinged and the doors opened up.

"Saved by the bell," Dawn said, taking Buffy's arm and pulling her out into the corridor.

White-coated staff members hurried about, all of them looking like they were going someplace important.

"Where is he?" she asked Angel. He didn't answer, but turned right and started walking down the hall. He stopped in front of a door, crossing his arms over his chest.

"In there."

Buffy paused in the doorway, looking at him through the partially open door. Seeing Spike was a shock, and not just because she'd thought he was dead up until recently. Even in those fantasies she sometimes allowed herself where he miraculously walked back into her life, he always made a grand entrance. Because that was Spike. It was never like this. His skin was as white as the sheets that were pulled up to his chest and the bandages that covered his arms up to the elbows. He didn't breathe. He didn't move. Buffy felt a little queasy.

"Is he okay?" Dawn whispered. "He looks dead. I mean...you know. Actually dead."

"He's just sedated," Angel said softly. "They had to do it for the pain."

Buffy looked back over her shoulder at him. He almost sounded...concerned. When she turned back to Spike, a woman walked into view. At first Buffy thought she was a doctor as she wore a white coat, but she wasn't acting very doctorly. She began to smooth the covers over his chest. She touched his face.

"Who are you?" Buffy asked, stepping into the room.

"I'm...Fred." She smiled. "Are you a friend of Spike's?"

"I'm Buffy."

"Oh! Buffy! It's so nice to finally meet you!" She smiled nervously, glancing over Buffy's shoulder at Angel. What the hell had he told this Fred about her, anyway?

"Are you Spike's doctor?"

"Oh, no. I work for Angel. I was just checking on Spike, making sure he's okay. And he is. Okay, I mean."

"He doesn't look okay to me."

"I..." She looked past Buffy to Angel again. "I know it must be a shock to see him like this, but he's being very well cared for here. I'm sure he'll be better soon."

"Well, I'm not. Sure, I mean."

"What are you talking about?" Angel asked.

"How do you know what they're doing to him? You're no medical expert. Have you really bought into all this, or are they using you? I haven't figured it out yet. But either way, I'll take it from here."

Angel sighed, clearly annoyed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm taking him out of here."

"What? You can't do that!"

"What do you care? Since when do you worry about what happens to Spike?"

Angel shook his head in frustration. "He's got the best medical attention he could ever receive here, Buffy!"

"That's true, Buffy. This is a state of the art medical facility. All the latest advances in..."

"In evil?" Buffy said. Fred's mouth snapped closed, and she gave Angel a helpless look.

"If you want to make this a fight, that's up to you, Angel. I _am_ taking him out of here. I don't trust this place, and he's not staying here another minute."

"Don't you mean, you don't trust _me?_ And did it occur to you that Spike never contacted you before this happened? What makes you think he wants you taking care of him now?"

Of course it had occurred to her. It's pretty much all she thought about on the plane ride over. Buffy looked away, back to where Spike lay motionless in the bed. How had things gotten so bad between her and Angel? And what about her and Spike? Why would he not even tell her he was alive? She'd have to think about all that later; Spike's safety was her priority now. She turned back and looked Angel in the eye, speaking quietly but firmly.

"I'm taking him with me. I've arranged for a medical transport, and it's waiting for us in front of the building. I'd appreciate some help getting him down there."

Angel stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Give her whatever she needs, Fred," he said, before turning on his heel and stalking back toward the elevator.

***

He'd been drifting in and out of consciousness - mostly out - for some time now. Hard to say how long, of course. The last thing he remembered was Angel coming to save the day, and in the nick of time, too. God knows what that crazy girlie would have cut off next. He couldn't feel anything below the elbow, and would have begun to panic if he was capable. As it was, he was too out of it to muster much of a reaction. He felt himself drifting back down toward unconsciousness and struggled not to, kicking his way up to the surface. With effort, he opened his eyes.

It was just before sunrise, from the smell of it. The air had a certain scent at that time that had become a warning to him over the years. Someone was in the room with him, too. Someone female. Someone familiar. His eyes fluttered closed again. Damn. He fought to maintain his tenuous hold on consciousness.

"Fred? Fred, s'that you?" He forced his eyes open again, and her face swam into view. "Buffy?"

"Sorry, but it's me," she said softly. God, it _was_ her. It was Buffy. Maybe he was hallucinating after all.

"My hands...the girl. The slayer."

She nodded sadly. "She hurt you. I'm so sorry."

"My hands...gone."

"Oh, no! They're not gone." She sat down gingerly on the side of the bed and picked up one of his hands gently in hers, holding it up slightly so he could see it. "See? They've been reattached. The doctor said it would take some time for you to heal. Nerves need to regenerate and that takes time."

He nodded, watching as she stroked the back of his hand. "Buffy?"

"Can you feel that?"

"No. Can't feel anything."

She let out a shaky breath and set his hand back down. "That's okay. Give it some time."

"Where am I?"

"We're in a place called Santa Maria, a couple hundred miles north of LA. I rented a bungalow. I brought you here to...until you're better."

He blinked hard, trying to stay awake. "Angel?"

"I took you out of the Wolfram and Hart medical facility. I don't trust them, Spike. If you knew the kind of things they were involved in...Spike?" His eyes had closed again.

"Tired..."

"It's the medication. Are you hungry?" he heard her say.

But he was too tired to open his mouth. Too tired to speak, let alone eat. Too tired to say oh my God it's so good to see you. Please be here when I wake up. Please don't be a dream. That was the last thought he had before sinking into oblivion once again.

***

"So, are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Dawn placed a mug of blood into the microwave, punched some buttons, and leaned back against the counter, watching it spin.

"I don't know what you mean," Buffy said, turning the page of a newspaper.

"I mean, you went to all this trouble to get Spike out of Angel's 'evil grasp' or whatever, you spent nearly every waking moment in his room while he was out of it, but ever since he woke up you've barely seen or spoken to him."

"I see him. I speak to him." She turned another page. Just this morning she'd said...good morning.

The microwave dinged. "Here, why don't you take this mug into him. I'm sure he'd rather it was you holding the straw."

Buffy stood up. "I would, but I have to go to the grocery store. And the butcher shop. Do you need anything?"

"Yeah, a straight answer."

"You're hysterical."

"Seriously, do you think he doesn't notice?"

She shook her head. He'd notice more if she went in there and made a fool of herself. "Look, I'm not good at taking care of people. You know that. I kill things for a living, remember? I've never even had a pet. All my houseplants are of the silk variety. But you, you're a natural."

"But he needs _you,_ " Dawn said to her retreating back. "Coward!"

Buffy got into her rental car and let her head rest against the steering wheel for a moment. God, she hated it when Dawn was right.

***

"So, big sis go out again?"

"Yeah. You're sucking down this stuff like...a thing that sucks blood."

"You mean, a vampire?"

She laughed nervously. "See? Makes perfect sense."

Spike nodded, watching Dawn's face carefully as she held the straw up to his lips. "You're a terrible liar, Nibblet." He slurped hungrily.

Dawn sighed. "Takes one to know one. And we really do need more blood. And Oreos. I'm afraid I'm the one sucking those down." Spike finished his blood and she set the mug on the nightstand. "I don't know why she's being all avoidy. She's been really worried about you. She does care. A lot."

"I know she does." Just not in the way he wanted her to.

"No, really. She's weird, I know, but I'm sure she has her reasons. I mean, there was the thing where you never bothered to tell us you were back from the dead and dusty. Might make a person think you didn't want to see them."

"Right." He sighed. "Hard to explain, that."

"It's okay. I get it."

"Yeah?" He wished she'd explain it to him.

"Look, I don't know what was going on with you and Buffy before, but I know it didn't work out like you wanted. And you and I weren't exactly best buds at the end, and that was partly my fault..."

"None of it was your fault, Sweet Bit."

His lunch sat heavy in his stomach like he'd drunk liquid lead. How the hell had he ended up here? An invalid, sewn back together like some Frankenstein monster. He kept trying to do the right thing, and he kept getting the proverbial short end. It was him, that's what it was. He was the common denominator. And now the two women he loved most in this world forced to play his nursemaid. He couldn't even feed himself, for Christ's sake. Plus, even though his legs worked fine, he'd been confined to bed rest by the demon doc that had come to check him out, courtesy of Rupert Giles. And Buffy didn't trust Angel.

It was about more than he could take.

"Spike...?" Dawn was giving him that look that always got to him, that please make everything better look. "You're going to be okay, aren't you?" When was she going to learn that he couldn't fix anything? And knew even less.

"How the hell do I know?" he answered darkly. He was surprised to see tears fill her eyes. Dammit, now he'd gone and done it. Hurt her feelings when she was just trying to help. "Hey, hey. None of that. Know I'm tough as an old piece of leather, yeah? C'mon, I'm sorry. Just sick of being trapped in this bed. Still, not as bad as being trapped in a wheelchair. Did I ever tell you about the time this bloody annoying slayer dropped a big-ass pipe organ on me?"

She giggled and swiped the tears away with the back of her hand. "Some random slayer, was it?"

"Oh, I don't remember her name. Muffy. Snuffy. Somethin' like that." She laughed out loud, and he nodded to the space on the bed next to him. "It's a hell of a story. Come sit with me and I'll tell you all about it."

***

The sound of his moaning woke Buffy almost immediately. Dawn was snoring softly in the bed next to her; she swore that girl could sleep through an earthquake. Come to think of it, she actually had, once. Buffy padded down the hallway in her bare feet and found him lying with teeth clenched, trying to be quiet.

"You should have called me," she said, taking the top off the medicine bottle and shaking two pills into her hand. She popped them into his open mouth, and then held a glass of water to his lips.

"Didn't want to wake you," he said.

"God, you're such an idiot." She reached out with her thumb and wiped away a drop of water that had dribbled down his chin.

"Must be comforting to know some things never change, yeah?"

Writhing in pain, and still making jokes. He was breathing hard and making an effort not to cry out, she could see. "Is this the worst its been?"

"Yeah. Feels like ants crawling under my skin." He shuddered. "And they're throwing tiny little hand grenades."

"The doctor said that's actually a good sign. It means you're healing."

"Great. 'Cept right about now I wish they'd never put my sodding hands back on."

"It'll take a little while for the medicine to work. Is there anything I can do?"

"Talk to me. Get my mind off it. Tell me what you've been doing in Italy."

"You want to hear about shoes?" she asked. He laughed, then winced, his arms jerking involuntarily. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and she could see the muscles of his upper body were tightly clenched. "You have got to relax," she said, reaching out to massage his shoulders. Leaning over him the way she was, it was hard to get the right angle, though.

To hell with it. She climbed onto the bed, careful not to jostle his arms, and sidled in behind him so that he was leaning back against her, her outstretched legs on either side of his. Her strong hands probed and prodded the muscles of his neck and shoulders, and she felt the knots begin to loosen.

"How does that feel?" she asked. He didn't speak, just groaned in appreciation. She continued to work out the kinks with her fingers, and as she felt him gradually relax, she lightened her touch until eventually his head began to loll on his neck and she knew he was asleep. She couldn't help but pause there for a moment; it had been so long since she'd been this close to him. Since those nights he'd held her and comforted her when she's been at her lowest. She pressed her nose against his neck, breathing in his scent, running her hands over the strong muscles of his back. The tears that stung her eyes caught her off guard. She scooted out from behind him, adjusting the pillows so he would be comfortable. When she slipped out of the room and into the hallway, she nearly ran over Dawn.

"I thought you weren't good at taking care of people."

"That? That was nothing."

"Yeah right. Look at him." The ambient light from the hallway fell across Spike's sleeping face. He was smiling.

***

"What's this, now?"

Dawn had tossed a large but thankfully lightweight package onto the bed, tied with a big red bow. "A going away present."

"Where am I goin'?" Maybe they were finally sick of him and would send him back to Angel.

"Not you. Me. I'm going back to Italy."

"Tired of bein' a Candy Striper, are you? Can't say I blame you..."

"Not really." Dawn looked over her shoulder, then sat down next to him and spoke in a low, confidential voice. "I thought I'd give you and Buffy some alone time."

Spike frowned. "Not sure that's such a good idea."

"Yeah, neither does Buffy, which is how I know it is. But...I want _you_ to know that, that..." She was getting all choked up.

"It's okay that you leave, sweetheart."

"I want you to know that I'm really glad we got to spend some time together. Even though you had to get your arms chopped off for it to happen." She rolled her eyes. "Drama queen much?"

He laughed. "Me too, Little Bit. The spending time together part, at least."

"Okay, let me open your present for you!" She undid the bow with a flourish and lifted something blue and silky out of the box. "Pajamas, see? The perfect gift for the pathetically bedridden."

"Gee, thanks. Blue silk pajamas. What am I, Hugh Hefner?"

"Oh come on, you'll love them. They're _silk_. I spent a lot of Buffy's money on them. And the top is button down, so you won't have to worry about trying to get them on and off like those stupid t-shirts.

"Happen to like those stupid t-shirts." But he let her slip the top around his shoulders and over his arms, and he had to admit that the material did feel nice against his skin. Even though he felt damn silly.

Dawn nodded with satisfaction. "Yup, I was right. They match your eyes _perfectly._ " She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Sorry, but Buffy's going to have to help you with the bottoms. Bye, Spike."

He laughed. "See you soon, yeah?"

"I'd better."

He watched her leave with a bit of a lump in his throat. Such a good girl, she was. Took good care of him. He'd miss her.

So. Now it was him and Buffy. Alone at last.

Oh, God.


	2. In Your Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After she learns that Spike has been hurt by Dana, Buffy decides that she's the best one to take care of him. But it's more than Spike's hands that need healing.

The cab driver was a big, burly guy who looked more like he belonged on the streets of New York City than the beaches of southern California. He was right on time though, a little early even, and reassured Buffy that they had plenty of time to get to the airport. Then he leaned up against the side of the cab and stuck the stub of a cigar into the corner of his mouth.

“Gonna be a hot one,” he said to Buffy.

“You think so?” She squinted up at the cloudless sky. The cottage didn't have air conditioning, and she was a little worried about Spike. Vampires might not mind extreme temperatures as much as humans, but they were not completely immune to the effects, either. You wouldn't think vampires would sweat, for instance, but Spike did sometimes. The memory of one particularly hot night came crashing back to her in vivid sensory detail. They had unexpectedly run into a large nest of vamps in an abandoned building downtown, more than the two of them would usually take on alone. Spike had tossed his coat aside midway through, and when it was finished, she had looked over at him, drenched and panting, and promptly dragged him behind the building. She remembered how the damp cotton of his shirt clung to his sculpted chest. How she couldn't wait to peel it off him, tasting the salt of his skin as she licked her way down his...

"Buffy? Hello? Earth to Buffy." Dawn was giving her the I-can't-believe-you're-my-sister look. She shook her head. "Weirdo."

The cabbie was also staring at her, and in a not good way. “Hot," he said, pulling at the collar of his shirt. "Record breaker.”

Oh, great. Buffy ignored them both and put on her sunglasses.

"I called Adrianna,” she told Dawn, brilliantly changing the subject. “She'll meet you at the airport, and stay with you until I get home." Adrianna was one of the new watchers, and she lived close to them in Rome.

Dawn nodded. "Cool."

Buffy wrote out a check and handed it to the cabdriver, then picked up Dawn's bag and tossed it over her shoulder.

"Can I take that for you, Miss?"

"Sure," she said, handing it over to him. He lunged forward from the weight of the bag, nearly dropping it before recovering and lugging it toward the car. Buffy grinned. “Sorry.” Dawn had gone shopping yesterday for "souvenirs", and was apparently taking half the mall back with her. With effort, he threw it into the trunk, then gave Buffy an appraising look, which she pretended not to notice.

"I guess you'd better get going. Call me when you get there.” But Dawn was not getting in the car. Buffy sighed. “What now?”

"Come on, stop sulking already. Remember how you never even wanted me to come in the first place? Besides, I'm leaving you alone in a romantic beach cottage with a hot guy. Most big sisters would be grateful."

"It's not exactly a vacation - he's injured. I mean, he can't even use his hands."

"What would he need to use his hands for, hmmm?" She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"Dawn..." Buffy made her voice as intimidating as possible, though intimidation was hard to pull off when you were blushing furiously.  
  
"Well, look at the bright side; at least you won't have to work too hard to get him into bed."

"Dawn!" The cab driver coughed, and Buffy shot him a look that sent him scrambling back behind the wheel.

"Kidding! Geez. I mean, that was a PG13 rated joke, at most. Hey, are you okay?"

“It’s not you. It’s just...Dawn, he didn’t even tell me he was back. He even swore Andrew to secrecy. Which he should have known was number one on the big list of bad ideas, but still...“

“He must have a good reason.”

“Like what, Pollyanna?”

"I don’t know. He was all tight lippy about it. But _you_ should talk to Spike. You always said there were things you wish you could've said to him.” She put her arms around Buffy. “Now's your chance."

Buffy hugged her tightly, then pushed her playfully toward the car. “Stop being the mature one, would you? It's annoying in the extreme." Though she was smiling, Buffy was glad Dawn couldn’t see her eyes behind the dark glasses.

Dawn folded her long legs into the backseat while Buffy shut the door. As the cab pulled away from the curb, Dawn turned to wave at her through the back window. Buffy watched them drive away, the car getting smaller and smaller in the distance until it finally disappeared entirely.

Buffy glanced back at the house. So. A good reason. She'd been over it a million times in her head, of course. Why he'd stayed in L.A., with Angel of all people, instead of coming to her. At first, she was afraid he'd been traumatized, the way she’d been when she came back - or worse, like Angel. In fact, that's the first thing she'd asked Angel, but he said no, that Spike's essence had been trapped in the amulet, and he apparently had no recollection of his time there.

Then she wondered if he'd fallen for someone else. She remembered the way Fred had touched him so gently, and looked at him with such caring eyes. But as soon as Buffy had expressed this fear to Dawn, she'd immediately gone on a reconnaissance mission and reported back that no, Fred and Spike were just friends. The only other thing he’d said to Dawn about why he hadn’t contacted them was that it was “hard to explain.”

After hearing that, there was only one conclusion she could come to. It was her. It must be. He just didn’t feel the same about her. Something had changed between there and here, and he wasn’t in love with her anymore. She’d pushed him away for so long that he’d finally just stayed away. She shouldn’t be surprised. But what could she do? He hadn’t believed her when she’d told him she loved him before. Why would he believe it now?

Even so, Dawn was right. After he was gone, there were so many things she'd wished she would have said to Spike. And now she actually had the opportunity to say them.

She just wasn't sure if he wanted to hear them anymore.

***

They said everyone had a personal hell and Spike now had an idea of what his would consist of. First, he'd be confined to bed. Alone. In a sweltering California cottage with no a/c. In a tiny bedroom decorated in sodding English country. Add a nineteen inch telly - without cable - and that'd be a good start. Oh, and don't forget to make sure that his hands throb and ache, especially when he attempt to move them, which he can't do enough to feed himself. Or even scratch his own balls, for that matter.

God, he was going bloody insane.

But then, there was Buffy.

While he was working with Angel, he had nearly convinced himself that it wasn't so bad. He didn't miss her that much. He was doing fine without her. But now, just being near her, being able to see her and hear her, made him realize how bloody much he still cared.

She flitted around the house like a beautiful butterfly, never alighting in one place for too long. He couldn't help but be amused by her fussing, setting up a fan to blow just so across his body, fetching cool drinks and distracting him from the pain and boredom with his favorite movies on the DVD player. It touched him, her concern for him, but he knew a big part of it was avoidance. The busier she made herself, the less she'd have to actually talk to him. Or endure the awkward silences, of which they'd already had their share. Bit of a challenge, talking around that large elephant in the room.

Not that he blamed her. It was all on him, really. He was the one who'd stayed away. Who'd hid in L.A. and never let her know he was back. Matter of fact, he was a bit surprised that she hadn't demanded an explanation, but instead she was tiptoeing around the subject as much as he was. He supposed she was waiting until he was better to do that, but honestly he didn't think he could stand it that long. Maybe it was better to clear the air and be done with it. He had no idea of what he would say, but he figured he'd take his usual tack. He'd just start talking and something would come to him. Time to stop being a bloody coward.

"Buffy?"

"Just a sec!" She was coming down the hallway, carrying a bowl. When she entered the room, he could see it was a basin of soapy water with a pink sponge floating on top, and a fluffy white towel was folded over her arm. An image of Buffy in white stockings with a seam running up the back inconveniently took up residence in his head. He shifted his legs on the bed to hide the evidence.

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"You wanted me?" Her face flushed prettily when she realized what she had said. "I mean...you called for me?"

"Oh. So I did." It was amazing how little it took for all rational thought to leave his brain.

She set the basin down on the nightstand and pulled a desk chair up to the side of the bed. "And?"

"And...what are you doin' with that?" Brilliant change of subject, mate.

"I have to change your bandages. The doctor was going come today to do it, but he got called out on an emergency. Some Gridiron demon having triplets or something."

Spike smiled. "Gra'dron demon. Cave dwellers. Peaceful, for the most part."

"Good to know. So anyway, I figured I could do it. I'm an expert bandage changerer by this point, don't you think?"

"No doubt." He'd seen her bandage and re-bandage dozens of injuries, but right now she looked pretty nervous about the prospect.

“Okay, let’s take this off,” she said, easing his arms out of the blue pajama top. “We don’t want to stain your pretty blouse.”

“Watch it, missy!” he grumbled. “Wasn’t my idea. ‘Sides, little sis says it matches my eyes.”

She opened up the night stand drawer to get some supplies, giving him a glance out of the corner of her eye. “Well, she‘s right.”

Before he had time to contemplate that comment, she was retrieving some very sharp scissors, along with bandages and tape, from the drawer. Chewing on her lower lip, she set all but the scissors aside, turned his arm over gently, and placed the towel underneath. Starting at the wrist, she carefully cut through the bandages and tape that nearly reached his elbow until she was able to pull them away from his skin and toss them into the waste basket next to her. They were slightly stained with blood near the reattachment site, but not badly. Spike looked down to where a neat line of black stitches encircled his arm.

"Wonder if that'll leave a scar?"

When she didn’t answer, he looked up to find her staring down at his arm, face stricken.

"Oh, Spike."

"Gonna be okay, pet."

Her fingers ghosted over the incision, and he saw they were shaking. "This is all my fault."

"How do you figure?"

"Dana. She...she's my responsibility, Spike. They're _all_ my responsibility. There could be more like here. Or worse."

That was rubbish, but it explained a lot. Explained why he was here, for one. Why she felt the need to nurse him back to health. Obligation.

"Don't be daft."

"Spike, I did this. I chose to have Willow activate all those potential slayers. If I hadn't..."

"...we'd all be dead. Permanently, this time. And a lot of innocents, besides."

She sniffled, and looked up into his eyes. "You're the one who saved us."

He shook his head. "Held 'em off till the amulet kicked in, didn't they? Some Turok Han woulda twisted my head off long before, otherwise."

She held his gaze for a long moment. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Doesn't matter, as we had no idea what the amulet would do anyhow. You made a decision. A tough one. That's what leaders do."

She nodded, but she seemed unconvinced. She reached for the sponge, wringing in out over the basin. "Still...I'm so sorry she hurt you. It must have been awful." She swiped the sponge gently over his skin, avoiding the stitches.

"Wasn't pleasant. But you wanna feel bad for someone, feel bad for Dana. Poor thing was terrorized as a tike. Thought she was getting back at the bastard who did it. Can't blame her for that."

"No...but it wasn't you. You didn't deserve this." She dipped the sponge into the basin again, squeezing out the excess suds.

"Plenty would say I deserve this, and worse. And they'd prob'ly be right."

She dropped the sponge back into the basin and looked him in the eye, her expression unchanged. "You've paid your debts." She patted his arm dry with the towel.

He shook his head. "No way to pay back what I owe, pet."

"Saving the world doesn't count?" She began to wrap a fresh bandage around his arm.

"Could save the bloody universe, won't bring anyone back. Not a numbers game, is it?"

Her voice was soft, thoughtful. "No, it's not. That's not the point."

"So what is?"

She snipped off the end of the bandage with the scissors. "You keep trying. That's the point."

His arm was now wrapped perfectly in a fresh, white bandage. She smoothed a piece of tape down carefully and then started on his other arm.

"Buffy."

"Yes?" She kept working. Didn't look up.

"Buffy, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Buffy, stop. Look at me."

"I'm almost finished." He waited patiently, because he had no choice, as she methodically completed her task. She took a breath, then looked into his eyes. She was trying to hide it, but he saw the uneasiness there. The anxiety. And the thing that gave him pause: a bit of hope.

"Wish I had a good explanation, but I don't. Unless you consider cowardice a good explanation."

"Not so much. Especially since you're about the bravest person I know."

He closed his eyes to gather himself. He wasn't the person she thought he was, the one he'd seen reflected back at him when he'd looked into her eyes just now. He wished he was. This was going to be harder than he thought.

"Spike. You sacrificed yourself. Do I have to say it again? You saved the _world._ And don't try to tell me you did it for me..."

"Yeah. Greatest thing I ever did. Will ever do. 'Cept, oops, didn't stick, and here I am turnin' up again like a bad penny."

Her mouth dropped open, incredulous. "How could you even think that! Did you really think I wouldn't be glad to see you?" She shook her head in frustration. "Glad isn't even the word. _Happy_. So _happy_ , Spike."

"Maybe. But then what?"

She faltered. "I...what do you mean?"

He felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. "We go back to things bein' as they were between us?"

She opened her mouth to speak. Closed it. Tried again. "Is that...is that what _you_ want?"

"Doesn't much matter what I want, does it?"

Her eyes flashed, uncertainty gone, replaced by anger. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, I can't go back to the way things were. I love you, but I can't. I told you I didn't want anything from you, but that's not true, not anymore. And...I just can't, Buffy."

She nodded, gathered her things together, and stood up. "You're right," she said softly. "You really are a coward."

***

She'd been back several times that day, but all his attempts at conversation had been clipped short or ignored completely. She brought him perfectly heated mugs of blood which he barely managed to choke down, and changed his DVDs often so that he was never without something to watch, but he didn't remember a frame of what had been on the screen. She checked on him one more time before she went off to bed, and his heart sank as her bedroom door clicked shut behind her. He tried for sleep, but laid awake instead, listening to the crickets outside, the rustle of leaves in the ocean breeze, the waves breaking on the beach.

And then another sound intruded. He barely noticed at first. It stopped for awhile, then started again. It was a sound he'd heard before, but rarely. Buffy, sobbing into her pillow in the next room.

Spike reviewed his options. If he called to her, she'd ignore him. He could fake being in pain, but if he did that, she'd be more brassed off than she already was. If he got out of bed, he was risking further injury to his hands, as he had so little strength or coordination right now. He could just stay where he was, do nothing. She probably just wanted to be left alone, anyway. Yeah. That was the safe thing to do. The smart thing.

Bugger that.

He kicked off his covers and stood. Though Buffy had been too angry to help him put his pajama top back on, he was still wearing his hospital issue drawstring trousers, thank God. The pain came with his first steps. His arms dangled uselessly at his sides, blood pooling in his hands. By the time he made it out into the hallway, they were on fire.

Thankfully, Buffy's room was not far. Nothing was in this tiny cottage. But her door was closed and he had no way to open it.

"Buffy? Buffy, please open up. Dammit, Buffy, don't make me try to open this with my teeth!"

She flung open the door and stood there, all red-rimmed eyes and wild hair, mouth open in shock. "What the hell are you doing out of bed?"

"I...you were cryin'."

"Oh my God."

That's all it took for her to spring into action, ushering him into her bed, propping his arms up on pillows, and running to grab his pain medication and a cup of water. She popped two pills into his mouth, held the glass to his mouth and, reconsidering, gave him a third. She knelt next to him on the bed and shook her head in amazement.

"God, you're still a giant idiot, aren't you?"

He tried to smile. "Some things never change. Comforting, ain't it?"

"How do you feel?"

"Stupid?"

She smiled. "Besides that."

"Um, ow?"

Her hands reached for him, one smoothing his hair back from his sweaty brow, the other flitting over his arms, barely touching. "God, Spike. You probably set your recovery back a week with that stunt."

"And now you're stuck with me that much longer. Lucky you."

Her bottom lip began to tremble. "I _am_ lucky."

"How's that?"

"I've got you back, don't I? Well, sort of."

"Buffy..."

"Why didn't you believe me? Am I that awful? Really?"

"Of course not!" Without thinking, he tried to reach out and touch her, and that set his hand on fire once again. He grit his teeth and took a deep breath. "Knew you had feelings for me. Knew I'd made you proud. It meant so much, Buffy. You've no idea. But...it wasn't the same as I felt for you. _Still_ feel for you. I mean, you were snoggin' Angel just the day before, pet..."

"Because I couldn't kiss _you!_ Because I thought I couldn't, or shouldn't. But I wanted to." She held his gaze, even though he could see it was difficult for her. "So much."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And you're right, it's not the same, not yet. But you haven't given me a chance! I needed more time. I didn't have enough time..."

Tears streamed down her face, and she turned away so he couldn't see. He was afraid she was going to run away from him again.

"Buffy, hey. Got time now, don't you pet?"

She turned back to him, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand. "Do I?"

"All you need."

"I don't think I'll need all that much."

He saw it then in her expression, what he'd been hoping to see forever. What might have been there for a long time, if only he'd dared see it. "Tell me again, love. Promise I'll answer proper this time."

She planted her hands on either side of his, and leaned in close. "I love you, Spike."

"Love you too, Buffy."

And then she kissed him, gently at first, smiling against his lips as she balance precariously over him.

"I don't want to hurt you," she whispered, kissing him again.

"You won't," he said. And knew it was true.

They'd had more passionate kisses, to be sure. And they would again, he was certain of that, too. But all would pale in comparison to this one.

And then suddenly she pulled back, and looked down at him in amazement.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Don't you feel it?"

He followed her gaze down to their joined hands, where his fingers had sought out and curled tightly around hers. She grinned. And squeezed gently. He concentrated.

And squeezed back.

_the end._

 

This fic was written for [](http://kcarolj65.livejournal.com/profile)[**kcarolj65**](http://kcarolj65.livejournal.com/) for the [Welcome Back To The Hellmouth Ficathon](http://kellyhk.livejournal.com/147984.html) , who requested the following:

Characters/pairings you would like to read: Buffy/Spike, Spike-Dawn (friendship), Spike-Angel  
Your Fic Kink: Hurt/comfort  
Three things you would like in the fic (be as specific as possible): A romantic Spuffy kiss, someone sticking up for Spike, Spike in a dark blue silk shirt


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